


The Cock Cafe

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Crack Treated Seriously, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex Work, Sexual Repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 03:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6686521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>La Bonne Bite</i> was the only cock cafe on the block, and it was the one Javert had frequented ever since he had relocated to Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cock Cafe

**Author's Note:**

> This was [inspired by a typo](http://esteliel.tumblr.com/post/143542623103/esteliel-what-if-valjean-has-to-earn-money-in-a) that turned "cock cage" into "cock cafe" -- and who could possibly resist the idea of a cock cafe? I owe all inspiration for this to [missellamason](http://missellamason.tumblr.com/).

Javert's schedule was regular as clockwork. Every Saturday at exactly 3pm, the week's work done, he walked towards the cafe at the corner where his street met the Place Saint-Michel. Sometimes during the summer, there would be tables and chairs outside, and bare-chested waiters serving coffee and tea in elegant china.

Of course the law banned offering more than a sample of the cafe's wares outside, and so, even during the warmer months, the cafe was always busy inside, where tables stood in small alcoves. 

_La Bonne Bite_ was the only cock cafe on the block, and it was the one Javert had frequented ever since he had relocated to Paris. The rents were high; even on his Inspector's wages, he could barely afford more than a tiny studio apartment on the 6th floor of an old stone building without an elevator. Still, his money could be stretched enough to cover the weekly visit to the cafe.

It was an expense that saved him money in the long run, or so Javert had argued with himself the week he had first moved to Paris and felt an undeniable draw towards the cafe's tasteful advertisements. After all, he had never seen the sense in wasting his coin on frivolous pursuits. Where others might seek gratification in dark alleys, he had a working hand, and one which did not demand payment.

Javert, who scoffed at those women and men of the town selling their bodies in hidden corners, could safely look down on those weak enough to pay through the nose for their bodies' baser urges. Instead, Javert led a frugal life. He allowed himself one visit to the cock cafe every Saturday; fifteen minutes, no more and no less.

It was an investment that so far had assured that he had never felt the need to spend as others with less willpower than he might.

His usual table in the corner at the back was empty; satisfied, Javert shed his coat, took off his hat and seated himself. A moment later, his waiter appeared. The man was uncommonly old for someone working in a cock cafe, but so far, he had pleased Javert. From Javert's first visit on, he'd memorized his usual order. Today as well Javert had no more sat down than the cup of coffee already materialized before him.

There was no cake; after all, Javert had not come to indulge himself. These visits were as much a duty as the leisure hours he spent with improving literature. While those were designed to keep his mind in check, these visits had the same effect on his body.

“The usual, Monsieur?” his waiter asked.

When Javert turned his head, he was met by the pleasing sight that had been at his disposal every Saturday for more than a year. A broad chest decorated with becoming gray curls between defined pecs awaited his view. His waiter's hair might be gray, but the man obviously worked out; somewhere in the back of his mind, Javert felt a familiar approval at the man's dedication to his service.

The waiter's nipples were pink and hard, the nubs larger than Javert's own, and pierced with small, unobtrusive bars of steel. Touching these was an item on the menu Javert had to forego sampling; it was, he reminded himself, a quite unnecessary indulgence.

Beneath the broad pecs arose the ridges and valleys of an impressive set of abdominal muscles, tapering down to powerful hips and muscled thighs. The man wore the black trousers of all the employees of the cock cafe, with the easily unfastened trouser flap that hid the wares on offer. A trail of hair led down towards that flap, and Javert licked his lips.

He deserved an indulgence today. Yesterday, he had earned a recommendation from the Prefect himself for arresting a man who had been responsible for at least ten different break-ins in the Marais. Before Paris, Javert had developed an unfortunate weakness for snuff; fortunately, Paris offered other ways in which to allow himself a rare reward for work well done.

“Not today,” Javert said. His usual order consisted of a coffee and cock; fifteen minutes of the trouser flap lowered and his waiter's cock available to his perusal was, he had found out, quite sufficient to satisfy his body's baser urges.

But today, he'd spend a few more coins. Not, he reminded himself once more, not on the pierced nipples—even though lately, an idle curiosity had taken him to see how that iron bar might feel between his fingers.

“Ah,” his waiter said.

The man always spoke softly; despite his size, he was the most unobtrusive waiter of the cafe, and had not once sought to convince Javert to spend more money than he had come to spend.

“I will take the 12 today. Five minutes, afterwards the usual.”

“Of course, Monsieur.” There was no surprise in the waiter's voice.

Javert had ordered this item off the menu before, on the rare occasion that he felt that his work deserved such a reward. Now Javert pushed his cup to the side as the man moved into position. Once he sat on the table before Javert, powerful thighs spread so that Javert could see the folds where the trousers stretched over his cock, Javert took hold of his cup once more. Sipping at his coffee, he reached out to stroke the cock through the fabric.

It was a nicely sized cock. His waiter might be older than most in this profession, but Javert had never found reason to regret his choice. The man worked well and quietly, and his cock was perfectly adequate for Javert's needs. Now, the rare treat of rubbing his hand along the shaft filled him with contentment. He took another swallow of his coffee, intent to finish it before it cooled. His other hand slowly explored the shape of the cock.

The man was soft, but already the shaft beneath the trousers was getting firmer as Javert massaged it. It was a perfect handful for Javert's large hand; he pressed down a little harder, making a satisfied noise at the way the warm cock slid along his palm.

Back and forth, he rubbed meditatively while he finished his cup. The cock he'd bought continued to harden, and in Javert, the first stirrings of excitement began to grow at the prospect of the trouser flap opening.

Today he'd get his money's worth out of his visit to the cock cafe, despite the additional coin for the treat of touching. Not only was there the pleasing shape of the cock in his hand to remember later, but soon enough, he'd spend his final ten minutes taking in the sight of the hard cock.

The waiter shifted a little, his head tilting questioningly to the side when Javert's fingers circled around the sensitive head with a little more pressure than necessary.

For a moment Javert considered adding item 20 from the menu to his order. Would it not be something to open that flap himself and keep rubbing that cock for another five minutes, briskly touching that hot skin and see it obey his demands?

Javert's gaze fell back onto the beautiful, firm bulge he was massaging.

No. Spending that much was madness. This would be enough. The cock had firmed up nicely, and his palm was warm and tingling from the friction. He'd go to bed tonight with the satisfaction of a solved case on his mind and the memory of that cock in his hand; an indulgence indeed, but a well-earned one.

His waiter shifted. Javert did not have to check his clock to know that the time was up.

“The usual now, Monsieur?” he asked, slightly breathless as the muscles of his thigh twitched against Javert's fingers. 

Javert nodded gruffly, pulling back his hand. His cup was empty. He put it down while his waiter unfastened his trouser flap, and his cock, finally freed, strained eagerly towards Javert. It was erect, flushed with blood, the vein at the underside throbbing as he watched.

Javert stared at it in grim satisfaction. The foreskin had pulled back, the tip was exposed, already gleaming wetly. Even as Javert watched, a bead of fluid oozed from the slit and slowly slid downward. There it hung for a long moment while Javert observed attentively. He gave it five seconds; in fact, it took six until at last it dripped to the floor, a glistening string of fluid that made his fingers twitch.

Perhaps the next time he received a promotion. While it was true that he saw no sense in buying further services at a cock cafe—even a fully licensed establishment like this—when he had a perfectly capable hand of his own, a reward for work well done was no frivolity.

The cock swayed a little as he kept watching. There was hair at its base, ringlets of steely gray. The waiter's balls were full and large. All in all, it was an attractive package.

Javert, who had always had an eye for a deal, once more felt satisfaction at the good purchase, for the waiter's age made this one of the more affordable treats on offer. Javert could only scoff at those paying double the price in a neighboring alcove for a noisy, fawning waiter with bleached curls. Not so Javert, who prided himself on a more discerning taste. In fact, he doubted that he would find such a rewarding specimen of a cock in any other Parisian cock cafe without paying at least another twenty francs.

Yes, he decided as he felt the final minute approach. Should he receive that promotion, perhaps it was time for another indulgence. He would keep his room: the rent was low for the area, and he needed little more than a bed, a table and a stove. And it would make no sense to change his habits—it would be frivolous indeed to waste higher wages on more extravagant orders at the cafe. No, he would keep coming every Saturday for his regular coffee and cock.

But once, to celebrate that promotion, he'd reward himself with a full menu. He'd rub those small steel bars piercing the nipples that kept drawing his eyes, and he'd touch the uncovered cock. He'd touch the balls to feel those small jerks and twitches. He'd stroke as slowly and for as long as he wanted, without looking at the clock, until he'd made that cock come in his hands.

“I hope everything was to your satisfaction today, Monsieur,” his waiter said as he closed his trousers and then stood.

Javert nodded once and then paid, grudgingly adding the small tip he thought adequate for the fact that the man ( _Jean_ , his receipt said) always performed well and did not bother him the way other waiters were prone to. A fine world it was where that was not the service a man could expect as a matter of fact, but then, Javert did not truly expect any better.

“Enjoy the weekend, Monsieur,” Jean said, and Javert gave him a brisk nod before he left the cock cafe, eager now to make his way home and find some further indulgence with his own hand before he could start the week undistracted by these cravings.


End file.
